


Runs the Stream

by panisdead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep/If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runs the Stream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sga_flashfic Supernatural Challenge, posted for Amnesty 2007. Thanks to Monanotlisa, Umbo, and Fanofall for beta.

They slide down the hill to the base of the tree, Ronon first, blazing a trail through the long grass. Teyla slithers after, while John and Rodney bump gracelessly through the tufts, sending bright sprays of butterflies into the air with each misplaced boot and elbow. John hits a rock ten feet from the bottom and flails in surprise and sudden pain, tries to grab his sore ass and loses his hold on the shrub keeping his speed in check, ends up rolling the rest of the way down to tumble the rest of them in a heap, downed like bowling pins. When they untangle themselves, the hillsides slope gently upward in a great bowl around them. The tree rests in the center of the bowl, its faraway top branches still settled beneath the rim of the hills.

It's quiet in the basin except for their breathing and the soft sounds of the bent grass uncrinkling, smoothing out and erasing the traces of their passage. John rolls clumsily to his feet and places a hand on the silvery-rough bark of the trunk, feels the familiar coolness beneath his fingertips. He raps the bole with his knuckles to feel the solidity, and sees his whole team go still and watchful when instead the tree echoes.

"That's not cool," John says, or thinks he says. The quiet presses in on his ears, weighing him down. Grass stands motionless all around them, swallowing his words, the sound of his own breathing, even the hum of his thoughts. He feels curiously empty, like he should be frightened but can't quite remember why.

"I feel funny," says Rodney. "Like my head's kind of, I dunno, floaty. Do you guys feel floaty? Am I bleeding?" He hums absently, probing carefully at his scalp.

Ronon reaches over and runs a hand through Rodney's wispy hair, making it stand up like the world's wimpiest mohawk. "No blood," he says. He looks relaxed, like he could bed down in the grass right here and sleep for a hundred years. Ronon ruffles Rodney's hair again, this time with both hands, thumbs smoothing carefully over Rodney's temples before he pulls away with a little slap to Rodney's cheek. It's sweet. John kind of wants to be next.

Someone slides their hand into his and he looks down at the part in Teyla's hair. She tugs his hand, small hard fingers laced between his.

"Shall we enter?" Teyla asks. John follows her gaze to the low, arched opening in the trunk where a stairway spirals down into the dark. "I would like to see where it goes." Teyla sounds pleased, like the tree's given her an unexpected gift, and John finds himself agreeing.

"Yes, let's," Rodney says, eyes soft with curiosity. He's humming again, something familiar that John can't quite place. "Down the rabbit hole."

Ronon thumbs Rodney's temple again, and they all smile at each other for a moment. _How did we get here?_ John wants to ask. _How do I know you so well?_ He wants to stay here in the quiet, with the sweet smell of grass in his nostrils and his friends close. But the stairway looks cool and inviting, the walls worn soft with age, the darkness pleasant and relaxing.

He squeezes Teyla's hand. "Alley-oop," he says, and tugs her forward. She presses ahead of him through the doorway and steps down into the waiting dark. John follows, feeling the air feather cool and musty over his face, Rodney and Ronon jostling for position behind him. Someone puts a hand on his waist under his TAC vest--it's Rodney; John recognizes the span of his big, square hands, although he's never had them on his body in quite this manner before.

He can hear bumping and scuffling behind him and Teyla's faint, almost inaudible footsteps from where she leads them all downward. The daylight softens and fades as they spiral away from the door in the tree, and John spares a moment to wonder why he's not more worried about what's ahead, or how they'll even know when they get there in the settling dark. He can't hang on to the feeling, though, feels it drifting away like smoke along the edges of his thoughts.

"I don't think I've ever been so zen in my life," Rodney says behind him, and John snorts out a laugh. "Seriously, what's with us?"

"Who cares," Ronon says. "It's pretty in here." He still sounds stoned.

Teyla turns and smiles at them all. "I hear water," she says.

They stop in jerky succession like cars at a red light, closing the distance from the front to the back of their little line until they're pressed together in a complicated sandwich of guns and limbs. _Dagwood, Atlantis style_ , John thinks. He huffs out a laugh, ruffling Teyla's hair with his breath. Ronon reaches forward and slaps him up the back of the head, and then there's a brief confused moment where all of them giggle and shove at each other and God, God, what is going on here?

A faint series of splashes from below stops them. It's the light, hollow pattering of a rockfall meeting running water, the tonal _plunk_ echoing in a way that hints at vast open spaces beyond the mouth of the stairwell. John still can't see much more than faint grey outlines around the velvety shapes of his team. They'd followed the corkscrew down and left the daylight behind, but if he squints and tilts his head so he's not nose-deep in Teyla's hair John can just make out a flickering bluish light from farther along.

"Move it, I want to know what's down there." Rodney punctuates his words with brisk, sharp squeezes to John's side. If John had love handles--which he doesn't--Rodney would be worrying them. As it is John's just a little ticklish.

"Come along," says Teyla. They process down toward the light.

The mouth of the tunnel leads to a last narrow ledge, stairs ending less in a final step than a drop-off, chest-high, where the earth below has eroded away from the stone. They crowd into the arched opening like a school of minnows, jostling for room. Their scuffling sends echoes skittering away into the gloom, vaulting up through the great stone cavern that opens in front of them. The roof is high away overhead, lost in the dark save for brief glimpses through the shifting bluish light that seems to hang in the air, originless. John has an impression of rough rounded stone, of roots like reaching arms.

The river runs below, dark and fast. The banks are low and flat, stretching out only a few meters on either side before meeting the cavern wall. There is no vegetation that John can see, although the musty smell of algae and old dirt is all around them. Their stairwell overlook seems to be the only entrance, like the sole arrow-slit in a castle wall. The blue light shifts and fades with the current, illuminating the cavern but nothing further; it's impossible to tell where the river goes once it leaves the light. There's a faint sound of rushing water far to the left, as though the walls narrow in to a tunnel, taking the river further underground. John can't see anything to the right.

Teyla looks briefly over her shoulder at him before stooping to lower herself gently to the near bank. Her boots make hardly any sound in the packed dirt, and she leaves no footprints that John can see. He doesn't see her move, but by the time John makes the jump himself she's somehow already several meters downstream.

There's a thump and a yelp behind him, and then, "Wait for me," from Rodney. John half-turns to make sure he's safely down and almost collides with Ronon, who's used the drop as an opportunity to take a standing leap.

By now Teyla's a barely-visible outline in the gloom. She hasn't looked back once, which is strange--there's scouting and then there's haring off with the fairies while on a mission--but John can't quite bring himself to worry. If there's something to be found here under the earth, Teyla will know where to look.

Someone grabs his arm, and John looks up to find Ronon at his elbow and Rodney wandering downstream. He inclines his head at Ronon. "Shall we?" Ronon arches an eyebrow, and they follow Rodney's muttering form. Ronon's grip on John's bicep is comfortably tight. John relaxes even further into this strange dreamy landscape, into his unexpected presence in it.

They amble along the bank through the bluish light. They're close enough together that Ronon's hair brushes the side of John's face when he turns his head, that John catches the thick warm scent of leather and the faintly metallic smell that seems to cling to all Ronon's clothes for reasons he doesn't understand. It's peculiarly calming. The dark water rushes by a few feet away, filling the air with soft liquid sounds and the feeling of damp. John wonders if there are fish. Eyeless ones, maybe, here in the dark.

There's a shout up ahead. Teyla. John and Ronon glance at each other and break into a trot, while in front of them Rodney picks up speed. There's no true feeling of urgency, but they just--they need to find Teyla and see what she's discovered. When they overtake Rodney, all three of them begin to run.

They find Teyla on a stretch of bank like any other: dark colorless dirt bordered by rough stone wall on one side and rushing water on the other. She stands motionless yet radiating energy, staring across the river.

"Shades," she says. "On the far bank. Can you not see them?"

John can. At first it's just motion, the same shifting shadows as fill the cavern, but as he squints into the distance forms begin to resolve. They're faint, barely translucent, but definitely human. They move like birds, hopping and flitting along the bank as though investigating. As he watches, one of them skitters through a lighter patch of shadow and for a moment the arms are visible, hands, a face in profile. Then the light wanes and it's just a shape again.

"Ghosts?" says Rodney. "Why am I not surprised? The Energizer Bunny'll probably show up any second, it'd be par for the course for today."

Ronon is still and silent beside him. Teyla is more curious. "Who are they?" she says.

John cracks his neck and takes a step forward. "Only one way to find out."

He steps into the water.

He can't feel anything at first. The first step lands him in mud, musty-smelling and sucking at his boot. The bank drops away almost immediately, and the second step sinks him up to mid-thigh. Ripples hiss around him, and John can't hear anything except water. Behind him on the bank his team is curiously silent, and he finds it hard to hold their memory in his head. The water is cool but not cold, rushing endlessly away from him, leaving behind this one breathing moment. His entire body feels strangely awake, suspended, on the verge of something unnameable.

John takes another step, into nothing.

There's a brief sensation of falling, then the water closes over his head. He breathes in.

John wakes with his face buried in Teyla's hair. The light from the oil lamp paints the walls of the tent in warm colors, red and gold and the deep, rich brown of leather tanned the Athosian style. Extra salty, John calls it when he wants to make Teyla laugh. She's stirring awake next to him, little movements pressing the light curve of her hip into his stomach. She smells different tonight, darker somehow, like she's been outside in the rain and hasn't dried off yet. John presses closer and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Teyla," he whispers. "Teyla. Who's on the other side?"

"John," she says firmly. "Open your eyes."

John wakes with his head in Rodney's lap, sweet soft stomach pressing and releasing gently against the tip of his nose with Rodney's every breath.

"Rodney," he says, watching the familiar flicker of the "Hot Donuts Now" sign from across the street bathe Rodney's face in sickly orange. "Who's on the other side?"

"You picked the wrong river," says Rodney. "Or I did, I can never remember. Figures." He smells funny: moldy, like he forgot his shirt in the washer overnight again and wore it anyway.

"What?" John says.

Rodney sighs. "Just open your eyes."

John wakes with Ronon's arm slung heavy and warm across his chest. The streetlights outside the bedroom window cast steady, cool shadows on the wall, broken intermittently by passing aerocars. Ronon smells weird, kind of mossy and thick, like the inside of a fishtank. "Who's on the other side?" he says into Ronon's armpit. He doesn't need to check if Ronon's awake. Ronon always wakes up first.

"What are you talking about?" Ronon says, low.

"I really want to know who they are," John says.

Ronon yanks the blankets back up and rolls over. "Sheppard, open your eyes."

The next time John wakes he's throwing up river water.

Ronon is crouched over him, completely dry, scowling as he watches John vomit. When John's finished and recovered enough to heave himself to a sitting position, he finds Teyla, soaking wet, sitting cross-legged nearby with an expression of faint confusion on her face. Rodney hovers between the two of them, dry from the waist down, twisting his hands together nervously like he doesn't know who to reach for first.

"That was weird," John says finally. His throat feels raw and awful, and everything still smells like underwater. Strangely, the rest of him feels just fine.

"Weird!" Rodney bursts out. "We had to drag your unconscious body out of the water! There was a human chain and everything!"

"Huh," says John. That explains the clothes. He looks over at Teyla. She looks better, less foggy than before. She meets his eyes with a little frown.

"I went underwater as well," she says. "I...saw things." They stare at each other for a moment. John thinks normally he would look away, but he's curiously content just to watch Teyla watch him, to catalogue the arch of her cheekbones and the way her hair frizzes just a little when wet.

"What do you mean, 'things'?" Rodney says, irritated.

He still looks a little frightened around the edges. John can see it in the slant of his mouth and the tense set of his neck, and it lights a surprising little flare of tenderness in him. Sometimes in the dream Rodney would scritch him to sleep when John was too tense to wind down by himself, and it's the memory of those fingers in his hair that makes him cock an eyebrow and drawl, "Human chain?" knowing the reaction it will get him.

"I don't want to discuss it," Rodney huffs. "You know what, I think I'm done with the subterranean river of the dead altogether. You can walk, right? Let's get out of here."

The trip back is quiet. Rodney plows ahead through the gloom, pointedly not looking back. John's not sure what they're fighting over, or if it's just Rodney's way of indicating that he'd rather no one drowned on his watch, thank you very much. John doesn't give it much thought. The inside of his head feels sharp and clear, a curious change from the relaxed disconnect of earlier. Something happened to him underwater, but he doesn't know what.

He never looked for the shades after he came out of the river, John realizes.

He doesn't stop walking. He doesn't need to look to know they've disappeared.

The stone staircase is easy to climb, once the indignity of boosting each other up the ledge is past. At first they head upward into blackness, like moles burrowing toward the light, but after a few moments of feeling their spiraling way the darkness begins to lessen. The shapes of his team sharpen gradually, color returns. Teyla's red tank top is a startling pleasure to his dusk-adapted eyes. John had almost forgotten red existed.

Stepping out of the tree is like shaking off a layer of dust. The soft, diffuse sunlight bursts over them as dazzling as an early morning over the Atlantic, like rounding the curve of a planet to stare straight into the sun. Ronon shakes himself all over like a dog, Rodney joining in. John eyes the waist-high grass with longing--he wants to roll, to bury his face in living, growing vegetation. Next to him Teyla drops to her knees and inhales deeply, smiling.

There's a pause.

John feels the change like an audible _click_ in his head. One moment he's fuzzy around the edges, thinking about pressing his face to the small of Teyla's back to see if she smells as good as she looks, and the next he's--himself. He'd felt his thoughts were clear after he came out of the river, but now he can feel tension seeping back into his shoulders and the space between his eyes, thinks of Atlantis and the Wraith and the myriad sins written on him, on his past. The weight of his life settles back into him, filling in all the nooks and crannies that had been made empty by their journey under the earth.

"Well, I'll be glad to see the last of this place," Rodney says brightly. "If I have to roll around in mud I much prefer your obscenely expensive spa treatment provided by leggy blonde Swedes."

John remembers, though.

"What, roll in the mud like a pig?" Ronon says, winding Rodney up. "Those Earth ones, with the bacon?"

He remembers the step into nothing and the breath in. He remembers how it felt to wake up in another life with these same people, strange and yet dear.

"I also find mud baths restorative," says Teyla, eyes crinkling, "although I prefer bacon."

"No one's _disagreeing_ that bacon is more satisfying!" Rodney's lip curls with disgust. "Why I have to be subjected to--"

John clears his throat. "So."

"--call me that one more time, McKay, I'll subject you all right--"

"Guys," John says.

"Are you going to let him talk to me that way? Teyla!"

"Rodney, it is not a difficult concept. Ronon merely wishes for you not to--"

"Guys!" John bellows.

The others stare, startled momentarily into silence. John scratches his neck, awkward. A faint breeze rustles the grass, raising the mild, sweet scent of late summer.

"So, uh," says John. "This probably comes a little out of the blue, but. Um." He stares at them helplessly for a moment, taking in his team's bafflement, their scepticism and faint mocking, and their willingness to wait patiently while he stands here screwing it up. "You guys know I--how I feel about--how much--" He gestures between them, full to the brim with emotion and floundering.

A beat, then Teyla steps forward, rolling her eyes. "John," she says, mercifully cutting him off, "we _know_." Her hands on his shoulders and her cheek against his are a hundred different moments, a hundred different lives. He feels Ronon push in next to him, heavy arm around his neck, and then the give of Rodney's warm stomach plastered all along his side.

"Come on, everybody in, group hug, group hug," Rodney says, exasperated but squeezing all three of them with surprising strength. "Christ, you're embarrassing."

John buries his face in Ronon's shoulder, his face and neck on fire. "I just want you to know," he mumbles. "All of you."

"We do, Sheppard," Ronon says, fond.

"We're not _stupid_ ," Rodney mutters into Teyla's hair.

"John," Teyla says gently, "open your eyes."


End file.
